


Don't Touch Me (I'll Spit Poison Again)

by LoveEffect



Series: Gavin Reed Has Issues [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Cigarettes, Detroit Evolution, Gavin Reed Being an Asshole, Gavin Reed Has ADHD, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Memes, Nearly everyone curses like sailors, Panic Attacks, Prosthetics, Smoking, Touch-Averse Gavin Reed, racism? is Gavin referring to androids as 'it's and 'plastic' racist? probably.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23937157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveEffect/pseuds/LoveEffect
Summary: "Have you met me? God, what isn't bad? You of all people should know that.""We had a rough start, I suppose. But there's much more to admire about you than to detest, I think."Here's that rough start.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Series: Gavin Reed Has Issues [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725469
Comments: 4
Kudos: 79





	Don't Touch Me (I'll Spit Poison Again)

“Reed,” Fowler sighs, the very specific sigh that means he’s very nearly at the end of his rope, and Gavin snaps his jaw shut. “You legally cannot work without a partner, you know this.”

“Yeah, sure, but a fuckin’ _plastic_? C’mon, Fowler, what the fuck?” Gavin most certainly does not whine, though Fowler pinches the bridge of his nose. Right, end of the rope, Gavin’s gonna shut up now.

“Nobody else at this precinct wants to work with your grumpy ass,” Fowler says, and Gavin knows he’s putting it kindly. “You either work with RK900, or you get stuck on desk duty until some poor idiot tries to be your partner for two weeks before quitting the job entirely.”

Gavin tries to swallow down the indignation and curses that will only result in a disciplinary and looks through the glass walls of the office at the bullpen. The RK900 unit is talking to Chris at his desk with a slight smile on its face, and Gavin can’t suppress the shudder.

“Jesus Chri—it looks like Connor, the fuckin’ thing,” he says.

“I swear, Reed, don’t make me write you up for workplace discrimination,” Fowler says quietly, and Gavin just throws his head back with a groan.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll play nice, fuck,” Gavin says, and he starts for the door.

“Dinner tonight,” Fowler calls out. “Martha misses you.”

“See you at seven,” Gavin throws over his shoulder before pushing the door open. He’s always appreciated Fowler’s ability to separate work life and personal life enough to keep putting up with Gavin for monthly ‘family’ meals, even when they’re butting heads at the office over warrants and due process.

“So,” Hank drawls out as soon as Gavin gets within earshot. “How many disciplinaries did you get?” Gavin aims a raised middle finger in his direction before collapsing into the chair at his desk.

“None, fuck you very much,” he says, waking up his terminal to continue reading the case files he’d just been assigned when Fowler called him into his office.

“Aw, lookit you! Finally gaining some maturity,” Hank says in a teasing tone of voice that sets Gavin’s teeth on edge.

“I will punch you, old man, don’t test me,” he spits through clenched teeth, but Hank just laughs. Connor looks up from his terminal and fixes Gavin with one of his fake-ass smiles.

“It’s good that the detective is learning a bit of impulse control, and his efforts should be rewarded, Hank,” it says, and Gavin sneers.

“Get your brownnosing program out of here, rust bucket,” he says. He can see Connor shrug out of the corner of his eye. Hank’s still chuckling, but at least he’s not talking anymore. He can finally fucking focus on his case.

“Good morning, Detective Reed,” a deep voice says from way-too-fucking-close behind him, and Gavin turns way too quickly, tense and ready to throw a punch, even after he realizes it’s the Connor clone. “I noticed you did not have time to prepare your customary coffee before being summoned by Captain Fowler,” it says, holding out a paper cup from the break room. Gavin clenches his jaw and crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair.

“And how the fuck do you even know I drink coffee?” he asks. Freaky fuckin’ machines, scanning shit and knowing way too much.

“Upon activation, I had access to all of Connor’s memories, as I was created to be his successor,” it says, as if that isn’t the weirdest shit Gavin’s heard all day. “I did have to ask Officer Miller how you usually take it, however.”

Gavin just looks at it for a second. It has Connor’s cadence but a deeper timbre, sharper features and cold blue eyes. There’s no fucking way he’s getting close enough for the thing to touch him, especially not if it’s running the same brownnosing program Connor is, as if being accommodating and _polite_ is gonna make him like it more.

Tina walks past with an armful of paperwork, smirk firmly in place. “He doesn’t like to be handed things,” she says in a stage-whisper. Gavin can feel his face going red.

“Eat shit, Chen,” he says loudly, lurching forward to snatch the coffee out of the android’s hands, fast and rough but careful not to touch the thing’s fingers. He brings the cup to his lips as he turns to his terminal. He needs to read the case file, holy shit.

There's the itching burning _wrongness_ of a hand resting lightly on his right shoulder and Gavin drops the coffee, going immediately into fight-or-flight. He stands, twisting to the left to get the hand _off_. He takes a moment to calibrate and punches RK900’s thirium pump regulator with his right hand, the hand he doesn’t use for fighting because it’s too easy to hit too hard. He doesn’t have to worry about that with tin-cans, though.

The android looks nearly shocked as it sinks to the floor, its limb strength compromised by the disruption to its pump regulator. Gavin just watches, trying desperately to get his heart rate and breathing and the tremor in his hands back under control.

“ _Jesus_ , Reed, what the fuck?” Hank asks from his desk.

Gavin bites his tongue and pitches his voice low enough that none of the humans in the room can hear him. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Reed!” Fowler bellows from his office. “What the fuck did I _just_ say?” Gavin turns and levels his captain with a deadpan stare, still wound up tighter than a spring. Fowler actually looks disappointed and doesn’t that sting like a bitch. He grabs his jacket and starts walking out, but Hank grabs his bicep as he walks by. Gavin bites down the yelp of pain that wants to escape his throat to turn it into a growl and easily smacks Hank’s wrist, knocking his hand off of the seam where skin meets the prosthetic that nobody but him and Fowler know about.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he says, nearly growling at Hank, who looks shocked as hell. He doesn’t run out of the precinct, but it’s a close thing. Once he gets outside, he pulls a cigarette from a battered carton and pauses to light it before walking to his car. He can’t believe he just lost his shit in the middle of the department. All from a faux-friendly hand on the shoulder, what the fuck’s wrong with him?

He’s still on the clock, and he needs to get to the scene, even if he never got a chance to actually read the case file. Whatever, it’s not like he’s about to walk back in there to get a tablet, fuck that. Hopefully the drive to the scene will be long enough for him to calm down.

When he comes into work the next day, there’s a disciplinary warning waiting on his desk. He curses under his breath and starts filling out the tedious forms. Who the fuck decided that these things need to be in triplicate?

Sharp footsteps grab his attention and he turns to see the RK900 unit approaching with a cup of coffee. Gavin knows he can’t hide the tension in his body from a human, let alone an android.

“Good morning, Detective Reed,” it greets, placing the coffee onto the desk within Gavin’s reach before immediately retreating, taking a seat at its desk opposite him. Is it respecting his boundaries, or just wary of getting punched again? The uncertainty settles like a rock in his stomach.

“Fuck you want?” he asks, turning back to the paperwork. Why the hell do they still use paper, anyway?

“Perhaps when you’re finished with your paperwork, we can discuss your theories for the case, Detective,” it says too calmly, too smoothly.

“Classic red ice overdose, there’s nothing to discuss,” he says, signing the bottom of the first form. Only two more.

“I’d beg to differ.”

“Then beg,” Gavin automatically spits back.

“Absolutely not. I analyzed the drugs the victim was smoking. It was cut with a lethal amount of antifreeze.”

Gavin looks up. The thing looks completely unphased. “Antifreeze? Shit, okay, so we track down the dealer piece of shit who’s playing god.”

RK900 shakes its head, the picture of bemused patience, and Gavin clenches his jaw shut to avoid another disciplinary before he’s even finished this one. “The antifreeze was added after the manufacturing process.”

Gavin just blinks a couple times as his brain catches up. His harsh exclamation of “FUCK” echoes around the bullpen. He ignores the stares and disgruntled responses in favor of waking up his terminal so he can change the designation of the case from drugs to homicide. “Shit, we have to call in the friends and family and re-interview them.”

“That’ll be unnecessary, Detective.” Gavin looks up at the android just as its LED blinks yellow a couple times before settling back on blue. “Forensics is nearly finished running the fingerprints found on the victim’s drug stash. We’ll have an identity in about fifteen minutes. Hopefully, enough time for you to finish your paperwork.”

Gavin looks down at the pages that he’d completely forgotten about. His next “fuck” is muttered under his breath.

The plastic across from him looks pleased, nearly smug, as if Gavin and the forensics team wouldn’t have gotten to that conclusion themselves. He’s not about to commend it for making his job slightly more efficient, fuck that. The prick’s probably just trying to win brownie points, endear itself to the office asshole. He’s not about to give it the satisfaction.


End file.
